Numair: The Beginnings
by GreenCookie
Summary: Ever wonder what Numair's life was like before Daine, Thayet, Jon and the rest? So did I. This is my version of what happens. You might find the timeline a lil out of place as with George and Alanna. ::R&R please::
1. Chapter 1

::Disclaimer:: None of these characters, places, or whatsoever else belongs to me. This is total fan fiction.

Chapter One

"One, two, three," Numair counted under his breath as he tossed the rocks in the air. "Four, five…" Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a child tug on his mother's hand, dragging her towards him. A bored shopkeeper wandered outside to watch him. Yes, he thought grimly, come and watch me juggle. Come watch me juggle and don't forget to bring your purses.

He sighed inwardly. A while ago, he could not have cared less bout the street rats anywhere, least in a country not his own. A while ago, he would not have been _juggling_ of all things to earn money for food. But then, a while ago was indeed, a while ago.

It had been seven months, or eight – one looses track of time when your only goal every day is to stay alive – since Ozorne had signed his death warrant. Traitor, he cursed Ozorne, may Mithros strike you dead. Once he had heard of the signing, he had had no choice but to flee with nothing save the clothes on his back.

He had crept on board a merchant ship sailing east. Unable to use his magic to conceal, for fear Ozorne would track him, Numair was found and dragged out by the crew. He scowled while he juggled, still able to feel the tight, heavy chains on his ankles forbidding his escape. He had managed to pick the locks in the end, using a slight wire he pulled from the trading barrels.

While the ship was anchored a few miles from shore, waiting for the morn before docking, he had leaped over board and swam off. The guards at the port questioned his arrivals, their bright eastern eyes narrowed suspiciously. Opening his eyes wide, he had sworn before the gods that he had fallen from the merchant ship and that everyone aboard was asleep. Silently, in his heart, he begged forgiveness from Mithros and prayed that a lightning bolt would not strike him dead at that moment. Telling tales had always been a gift, though rarely necessary, from childhood and the guards showed him the way to the nearest inn.

Early the next morning, he had slipped out his room window, leaving a note explaining that they could collect the bills from the merchant ship due in at noon that day. It was petty but the revenge gave him a little satisfaction.

A small tinkle brought his mind back to the present with a quick start and the rocks slipped from him. A snigger came from the small crowd in front of him and he could see a richly dressed man lift his head in his direction. "Amateur," he said contemptuously.

Numair ignored the obvious noble, and bent to pick his rocks. He smiled at the child who had dropped the penny on top of a minute pile of coins at his feet. "Thank you," he said, voice hoarse from lack of water. The little girl smiled back and ran off. The small crowd in front of his began to disperse when they realised his act was done for the day. The noble who had commented on his juggling stalked off with a woman dressed in rich silks. As they walked by him, crouch on the ground, gathering his pennies, the woman dropped a gold coin for him. He looked up and she smiled at him, lowering her lashes slightly before sweeping by.

A gold coin and seven pennies, he counted. "Why, it's a feast tonight," he muttered to himself, tone bitter. He would find an inn, a nice cheap inn, and have a good dinner, the best in a while. And if there was any money left, he would buy himself a used shirt in the marketplace. The one he was wearing at the moment was threadbare, and the alleys were always windy at night.

When he walked into the warm and cozily lit inn, the innkeeper greeted him cheerily and led him to a table. His wide smile never faltered, even when Numair asked for a table closer to the fire. "Of course, of course," he replied and complied. "Now how can we help you?"

"Food. Whatever I can afford with a gold coin," he asked. "And please, a glass of water."

The innkeeper left and returned with a plate of meat and white grains, called rice. Numair blinked when he also placed a small goblet filled to the top with rich red wine. "Excuse me, sir, but you may have the wrong – "

"The lady over there sent this with her greetings," the innkeeper told him before leaving, still smiling widely. Numair glanced up. He saw the noble's lady who had dropped the gold coin earlier. Once he had caught her eye, she drifted over, followed by a staggering scent that left men in her wake staring.

"All alone?" she asked him huskily, lowering herself onto the chair opposite his. He nodded, dropping his eyes. He never minded when ladies approached, but the noble she was with could still be around; he'd rather not do anything to call attention to himself.

"My thanks for the drink," he told her, still keeping his eyes on his plate of food. "I appreciate it."

"It was my pleasure," she replied, smiling flirtatiously. Lightly, she touched his hand but he pulled it back gently. Before he could excuse himself, a man hurried into the inn's dining hall. Numair noticed that it was the noble the woman had been with. The noble made his way towards Numair's table and spoke to the woman, hardly seeming to notice Numair.

"June, they've an emergency for me at the watch house. You go straight up to bed, and don't wait up for me. I'm sure I'll be away for the night. Don't worry, alright?" Numair snorted inwardly, while quickly scoffing his food in case the noble noticed him and had him kicked out of the inn before he had finished his dinner. It had been well rehearsed, well practiced, but it was a lie nonetheless.

June stood up gracefully and took the man's hands in her own. "I won't, dear. Don't work too hard," she assured him. Kissing him on the cheeks lightly, she bade him goodbye and watched as he made his way for the door again.

As soon as he had left the room, she turned around and sat back down. Numair debated whether to tell her he was lying, but before he had come to a decision, she spoke calmly. "He's gone to meet his mistress. He does it every time we pass this village." Not trusting himself to speak, Numair said nothing. She looked into his eyes, her own sparkling invitingly. "Lonely?"

If only you knew, he thought to himself but once again said nothing. Instead, he stood and offered his arm which she took eagerly and they made their way upstairs, past the smiling innkeeper.


	2. Chapter 2

::Disclaimer:: None of these characters, places, or whatsoever else belongs to me. This is total fan fiction.

Chapter Two

Numair glanced around the city markets, wondering where he was. He had moved on from the last village, as people had grown tired of his juggling and the pennies amounted to only several a week. His travels on the road had taken a two weeks he supposed, which he had set upon with his earnings the week before: four pennies. Just enough for a loaf of fresh bread. His stomach growled pitifully, as if not even having enough strength to do so.

"These Corus markets are always so crowded. I hate coming here," someone complained behind him. Corus, so that was where he was. Corus, the capital of Tortall. His stomach growled again and he sighed. The night was nearly here; he'd better find somewhere to sleep for the night and begin his juggling tomorrow.

He found his bed in a small back street, seemingly deserted with no lights. Curling up in a doorway, his back ached and his stomach rumbled unhappily. His head began to spin and he smiled faintly to himself. Yes, this was the life he had always wanted. On his way to the Dark God, starving and perhaps half mad. At least Ozorne would be happy. If he knew.

"George, what in the Goddess's name makes you think that Fingers will be awake now?" Alanna demanded. The short red-headed knight was following closely behind a man who crept through the shadows like a cat. "Isn't he usually knocked unconscious by this time?"

"Lass, you know I love you but you really musn't question what I do," George replied patiently. "Half of them I do for reasons beyond _my_ simple, common mind."

[::AN:: For Lady Fire eyes who asked, this happens after Alanna kills Roger for the second time and before Alanna and George get married.]

Alanna reached out to grab his shirt sleeve. He turned to look at her and her violet eyes pleaded with him silently. "Alright," he grumbled. With a sigh, he turned back around, Alanna's hand in his. "I hate it when you do that."

"Besides, what would Jon say if he heard the Baron of Pirate's Swoop and her dearly betrothed was out roaming the streets at night?" Alanna added teasingly, giving him a cheeky grin.

"Why my dear girl, he'll be raving mad." He released Alanna's hand to place both of his on his hips, and he pulled a mock scowl in an attempt to imitate Jon. "George, what do I have to do to turn you respectable? Must you go out every night to look for your everlasting ears?" Alanna laughed, wrapping his arm around her waist.

"George, don't ever do that again. You are not a bit like Jon." He grew quiet and his grip on her tightened.

"I know lass. Jon's got royal blood, and all the riches in the world and I'm just a simple commoner with nothing to offer you but all my love – " Alanna silenced him, placing a finger on his lips.

"I love you George Cooper, every bit of you. Jon's very fine and all, and he'll make a good king, a good husband to the right girl someday. But you're real George. You're real and you're mine," she told him quietly. He looked at her for a moment and then bent his head to kiss her gently. Their moment together was shattered as slurred yells pierced the night.

"Bastard! I'm going to break every bone in your gods damned body! You heard me?" Alanna reached for her sword, usually hanging by her side, but tonight there was nothing there. She remembered she had left the sword in her room as it seemed far too conspicuous to carry around the streets at night. She balled up her fists, ready fight unarmed if she had to, but George grabbed her shoulder.

"Alanna, don't," he asked imploringly. "You're unarmed." She shook off his hand gently.

"I must, George," she replied before taking off quickly. George sighed and followed. There were disadvantages to loving a knight. Like worrying unnecessarily. 


	3. Chapter 3

::Disclaimer:: None of these characters, places, or whatsoever else belongs to me. This is total fan fiction.

Chapter Three

It didn't take Alanna long to find the source of the commotion. In a dark back street, a staggering man raised a bottle at a large huddled figure in front of him. "Don't," a hoarse voice murmured. "I'm sorry. I'll go." The drunk took no notice whatsoever and lowered his bottled.

"Stop that," Alanna called out in a stentorian voice. The bottle crashed down on the figure's head and a muffled gasp was heard. "Stupid bastard," Alanna cursed, charging at the drunk. Her shoulder rammed into his chest and he fell over backwards. Head hitting the stone ground, he was knocked out. George, who had been right behind Alanna, glanced over him.

"Unconscious, not dead," he told her grimly. "He's lucky. You hit him with enough force to knock down the palace walls."

"Serves him right," she replied before creating a light to see the person in the doorway. He stood unsteadily and blinked at the sudden light. He was a tall male, extraordinarily tall; Alanna barely came to his shoulder. His face bore cuts and bruises and his black hair glistened with the blood that was coursing down his face. His cheeks were flushed and his lips dry. Alanna noted that his shirt and breeches hung loosely about him.

"Are you alright?" George asked, coming up beside Alanna.

[::AN:: I juz realised the other day, I have made the simplest, most obvious mistake ever. Anyone who's read Wild Magic knows that Numair's name wasn't Numair when he came to Tortall, it only changed when he became known to Jon. Now, if you go back and check, though you have absolutely no reason to, all Numairs have been changed to Arram.]

"No," the man whispered before falling backwards, his head hitting the stone floor with a sickening crack.

It hurt like hell; Arram felt his head throbbing wildly. His stomach lurched as the acid, hungry for food, burnt up the walls of his stomach. His body felt like jelly and his head spun. But he didn't care anymore. All, he wanted was to close his eyes and let the lingering darknesscome. And so he did just that.

Dark eyes opened and then blinked. The bright whiteness of the ceiling was a sharp contrast to the infinite blackness he had just awaken from. The walls were painfully white as well and looking down, he saw that the sheets he had been wrapped in were a soft white. Is everything here white, he wondered.

His head felt heavy. Lifting a hand to touch it gingerly, he felt thick bandages wrapped around his skull.

A slight creak told him a door had been opened.

::AN:: I'm a very spontaneous writer. I got this far and then ran out of ideas. R&R and post your ideas on how Arram should meet up Jon and how his new life starts because I for one, have absolutely no idea. Cheerz.


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